


Walk into the sea

by KeanBlade



Category: Naruto
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Emotional Hurt, Heightened Language, Probably ooc, Psychological Trauma, Terminal Illnesses, Tragedy, discussion of illness, no beta we die like men, no con-crit please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeanBlade/pseuds/KeanBlade
Summary: We do not turn our faces away, we do not look away from the receding tide, and I will not let you look away (you shall have to watch me fade, that is the price I take, my pound of flesh).(Weakness has followed Tobirama since he was a child, held back by only willpower and the red seals painted on his skin. But there is a price for everything and a life for a life is no surprise)
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama
Comments: 84
Kudos: 382





	1. The sea rolls back

**Author's Note:**

> This story is marked as completed because- like what it's about- you never know when things will end. And mostly I don't want another WIP to stress me out, especially since this has only a semblance of a plot right now; it's mostly just new chapters as I feel out the topic - none of this is pre-written, it has to be discovered as time goes on. So It might feel unfinished even though it is marked complete. (Which I would say is a bit like life with illness.)

Tobirama stared at his hands and flexed his fingers, lips twisting bitterly at the fine shake in them; there was nothing that he could do, nothing to change nothing - with a slow controlled breath he lifted his hands and scrubbed at his eyes. He hadn't chosen this per say but...there hadn't seemed to be anything else to do when he looked at Izuna's bleeding form, nothing to do but drop and press glowing hands to the wound he had inflicted; the way that the red lines faded from his skin was something he had done his best to hide as he turned his face away when his brother approached. Hashirama still didn't know with the way Tobirama had painted his cheeks but now....

The village was made and it had been two years since he used the chakra from seals tattooed on his skin to heal the Uchiha (not that much of anyone acknowledge that, Madara had thanked him but once and only grudgingly, perhaps he shouldn't hold it against the Uchiha after all, Madara didn't know about the price) and the illness they held back was catching up with him. Already have a weakness ate away at his strength, already the fatigue reduced him to lying on the laboratory floor when he became simply too weak to stand, already the pain plucked at his concentration and the frailty in his limbs betrayed him perhaps the most; it had been nearly a year since he had taken a mission outside of the village, blaming it on his needing to be here to help run the infrastructure he had almost single-handedly created but now- Now it was time to tell Hashirama that the weakness that had lived inside him for so long was catching up.

(That is perhaps was the worst part of it, not the pain, not even the weakness, the simple way that his body slowly gave up, the feeling of everything inside him slowing like it unwound clock, the aching necessity of the knowledge they had never found. They never knew what was wrong with him, didn't know what it was that ate away at his very life only that it had been held back by the seals once painted red on his skin, and without those the progression returned, as far as he knew there was only one way his story could end now.)

* * *

[I grow tired, the days stretch so very long and the nights twist around me like so much sea foam, dreaming rest every bit as elusive as the receding tides. I cannot speak for I am weary and all the aching time that passes (and all that I do as I am told I must) does not touch the fading thing in my chest, does not touch the pieces of me ground to dust with every passing hour and too-long night and twisted broken dream.]

* * *

"Tobi?" Tobirama smiled down at his hands and let out another slow breath before looking up at his brother, watching as Hashirama's face blanched and fell when he saw plain white features without a hint of red; "Tobi" he whispered "how? When-?" 

Tobirama sighed quietly, "Did you think saving Izuna came without a cost?" Hashirama sucked in a horrified breath and dropped to his knees in front of his brother curling his strong hands around Tobirama's pale faintly shaking fingers, chafing them between his own when he felt the chill that had taken hold.

"I didn't know"

"I didn't want you to"

"Two years?" Hashirama asked eyes fixed on his brother's hands rather than look at the face that looked so much thinner and wan without the red accenting his features. "Already two years in, Tobirama, already _two years_. How much-?"

The albino laughed shakily "I don't know, you know that. You know there is no way to know except that I am sliding down the silent hill." Tiredly he shifted one hand to brush at the tears dripping down Hashirama's face "I'm sorry brother"

Hashirama shook his head, "This isn't on you, It's not your fault." He said and drew back enough to look at his brother "we can't know for sure, but what do you think? How long do you think?"

Tobirama looked away rubbing at the bridge of his nose to hold back the ache in his eyes "One, maybe two more years. I'm going to begin making arrangements now so that everything is dealt with when the time comes."

Hashirama bit his lip sharply and swallowed before speaking again "You haven't taken any missions in a while, did you..."

Tobirama laughed, honest humor in his voice when he responded "I was eating soup in my lab, I got tired and sat on the floor to eat it and then...Hashi, I got tired eating soup on the floor and had to lie down" his lips curved in amusement at the memory, the sheer absurdity of his frailty almost too much to believe.

* * *

[It takes ever more, I am afraid to say, to cling with broken fingers to a life that flows away (and how much harder when I do not even wish to stop the ever moving sea, but would ride it out into the sun-spilt lightning bright place) how strange then that even this small thing, even this rest I so crave should inspire in me something second kin to fear (as the patient working dog of duty is kin to the creeping Wolf of death). And even then, I seek to understand, I search my heart and mind and I - I do not _fear,_ not anywhere in my heart that I can find, and yet...and yet. ]

* * *

(Hashirama's heart ached; when they were young and Tobirama had faced this possibility things have been so different somehow, and though the seals had held back the creeping thing that ate his brother's very life out Hashirama had never quite forgotten what it was like to see the ever brave Tobirama shaking in his arms, not afraid necessarily for that was not his way but... Something aching and tired. Somehow reduced from what he had been before and to see it now again - Hashirama wondered how he could have missed it, wondered how he could have missed the shapes of time clawing away the vitality that had so brightly burned. How had he not seen the shaking hands? How had he not seen the pale face? How had he not seen the growing thinness and the watchful carefulness as if Tobirama feared that he might break in half with too fast movement?)

Tobirama was _tired,_ weary and worn almost to the quick, and now facing what he had quietly contested, facing not perhaps the current reality of a fragility that might be lived with but the silent marching on of a progression they knew not how to stop it was...different. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to sleep and never again wake to a world that was so thin, he wanted to look in the mirror and see a man he remembered instead of a walking shadow and a shade; wanted to be strong, wanted to fight and walk and breathe deep clean air, he wanted to be what he Once was again and no depth of acceptance and exhaustion quite erased that aching need.

"Is there nothing to be done?" Hashirama ask softly and Tobirama shrugged.

"Maybe, but we know so little about what ails me that at this point it would be throwing ever stronger remedies against a wall to see if something sticks. You remember this, you remember when the healers said they didn't know what or why this was happening, you remember when they said there was nothing they could do but try last ditch maybe's, you remember when they looked at me and saw nothing truly wrong and thought that I was well, you know that the current fear is not the worst but the future fear" he murmured.

Hashirama laughed tiredly, he remembered those long years before the Uzumaki came and painted seals on china pale skin slowly gaining a gray cast. Remembered those healers that looked at his thinning younger brother and said he could not possibly be sufficiently sick for them to fear so much, remembered the long fights and the aching disbelief, remembered what it was to watch his brother wrestle with the reality of what he experienced and the dichotomy with the numbers the healers gave him that said that he was well. He remembered.

* * *

[It is my solace and my curse that my fate should be so unknown with no numbers and facts that I can look to and find grace in; no I must _believe_ must believe that I might know myself best (and how when I have ever been told that I cannot? How when I sometimes simply cannot - the ever-rushing biting in my brain eating away until I remember is just betrayal) and trust in that, must value myself enough to find worth in that trust when all worth seems gone. But how am I to close my fingers on the wind? How to know how to capture the flickering jellyfish (beautiful and cruel and painful)?]

* * *

"Hashi, what if I'm wrong? What if I have done so much and worried so greatly and grieved so many and I am wrong? What if I have created- will create- such a scene and fuss and then recover? What if I am proven to be a liar and death doesn't come for me?" Tobirama's voice shook a little with the words, a terrible fear brought to light in a broken voice.

"I do not think" Hashirama responded slowly "that you are wrong, you know yourself better than anyone else, and there is nothing now we know to stop your slide. And even if you are, even if you outlive your death, I do not believe that is a waste brother, I do not believe that any time spent with you or moments treasured in your presence to be a waste. Let me celebrate you whilst I can, let us both make sure that should quiet death come for you there is no regrets. Perhaps you should live on, but should you not let us not regret"

Tobirama tipped his head up, looking into the dark sky filled with scattered points of brilliance and just breathed, slow and deep even as it made his chest ache as if under a great weight; Hashirama was perhaps correct, he did not wish he did not wish to fall into shadows burdened by regret that might give him terrible dreams as he went to his final rest. Perhaps it truly was better in this to allow such things.

* * *

[And then must do so (and I do wish I could) while told I do not stand by the sea at all, while knowing that the building of a sturdy boat is the work of many hands - how am I ask such work of those that would not choose to give it?

And what if the tide never comes for me? What when I have built a boat of the labor of those that had none to give and it sits and rots in the sand, cracks under the sun, how am I to bare the weight of that if I should not go out with the sea? Far better than to build alone, or build with those that would offer hands and time and saltwater to me on their own - far better to only ask it of those who would give it without regret (I cannot carry their regrets and yet I feel as though I am told I must, how much then shall I carry when the sea is calling me away, when I already long for silver paths?)]

* * *

"What made you decide to tell me now?" Hashirama asked settling in front of his brother more comfortably on his knees.

"Mito. She saw me without the paint I've been using, and she must have known there was something wrong. I didn't wish for her to be the one to tell you, I wanted it to come from me" Tobirama said. Hashirama grimaced faintly, very glad he hadn't heard that even from his wife. "I- there is a little about me that is truly unwell, at least not in a visible way, no scan has shown me much about why I ail so and it is so... Mito looked at me and was afraid Hashi. I cannot remember ever seeing that before and it was...a slap in the face I suppose. It is so strange to me that I should be so ill when I frequently feel so well but she looked at me and was afraid"

Hashirama hummed thoughtfully "Perhaps it is simply that you have always been so accepting of your fate, you have always faced this with grace, you have always been mentally well and perhaps that is partially what keeps you from understanding the reality of your health. Besides, brother, it is not your current illness that I fear but your future; if we cannot slow your slide, if you have grown sicker over the last two years as you did when we were children-" Tobirama grimaced but nodded "-then your future is deeply uncertain."

Tobirama rubbed his face again and shook his head, "I do not think I have done this half as well as you believe, but I suppose if there is nothing else that I wish for whatever time I have left it is to go with some modicum of grace, if that is all that is left to me to control then let me grab it with both hands. I just wish..." His voice trailed off weekly and his breath shook for a moment before he met his brother's eyes "I am so _tired_ Hashi" he said in the cadence of a child as wetness slipped down his cheek for the first time.

Hashirama made a broken sound and surged up to gather his little brother in his arms, rocking them gently back and forth as Tobirama shook with overwhelmed exhaustion.

* * *

[Would that I were not so weary, would that I did not simply wish to sit by the sea and watch to movement of the sun as the tides wash in and take the weight I can no longer carry. Would that I wished to do more than just _breath_ without the ever present specter of the sky pressing down (would that I could breathe without the pain, would that I could lay and just be without the aching broken sky filling all my view), would that I could take three breaths in suspended time - even just a snatched rest, just a moment to feel spilling foam in my fingers and find a little hope.]


	2. The hungry tide

Tobirama snarled, slamming his hand into the wall and feeling all the anger drain away in a too-fast slide when the hit barely dented the wall where it once would have shattered. Anger twisted up inside him, no, not anger, something a little like wrath and a lot like tragedy boiled up in a dark tar from the edges of his bones were they ached every damn day; he had believed, perhaps foolishly, that he was learning grace and yet...and yet. The emotion drained away again- it was hard to hold on to any emotion for very long anymore, fatigue had a way of scraping out even emotions and leaving nothing but sun-bleached bones and salt-caked sea glass- and he stared tiredly at the wall across from him, the small space of the cabinet he had ducked away into filled with the too harsh sound of frantic panting - an involuntary reaction of his illness that he had grown accustomed to - he had grown accustomed to many things but now somehow it was even worse when confronted with a new boundary (sort of, he just...forgot how bad it was, wrapped up in his bubble of coping mechanisms and normalization; it was a bitter slap in the face to have this happen over and over again just when he thought he made peace). And this _shouldn't_ have been a boundary; it was a meeting, an important one and one that had required a certain amount of preparation and focus but still, a _meeting_ and now he was huddled in a cupboard with a seal slapped to the door as he tried to force his fucked up body to remember that it had to _breathe_ , defective piece of **shit**.

Normally in such times he might speak to himself, quiet mantras of "relax, breathe, (you can do it)" repeat it over and over and over until the worst of the shocky crisis faded and his body was no longer trying to claw it's way back from the cliff. This time though he couldn't even get enough breath to speak to himself; his breathing hitched, deepened, clutched, and twisted, frantic gulps of air whiting out much of his mind until there was suddenly someone in front of him, a light slender hand (Touka had always had surprisingly feminine hands, she hated them) resting on his back and a forehead almost pressed to his. "Breath" and he was _trying_ , he truly was, trying to slow the spazmatic expansion of his chest but it wasn't hyperventilating (there was none of the lightheadedness and none of the frantic emotion) no, this was something else entirely; this was his entire body forgetting how to function and all he could do was lean on the chakra training of his childhood (" _breathing is the base of all things, if you really want to master this trick with the water sebons then we must first start with training your breathing as if you were going to be a singer_ ") to force all his airways open, a concentration that left no room for regulating how he breathed. "Breath Tobi" all he could hear was the deep rasping sounds of his gasps, and then the spasms started. The deep rippling convulsions that started somewhere in his hips and rolled up through his body like some twisted dancers' evocation; as if his entire body was attempting to expel everything vital through his mouth ("I'm okay" he rasped) and he tightened his fingers where they were knotted in his hair, clutching harder and harder with what weak strength he did have as the fit grew worse ("I'm ok"). Gods above but it was sheer foolishness, none of the things that were happening were logical or understandable or had any good reason to be happening and (" _I wanted to do more_ ") he couldn't understand what it was going on that was causing this, what could possibly be happening that would throw his body into such violent crisis?

"With me, breath with me" dutifully he attempted to match his breathing to Touka's, forcing the old vocal exercises to help him regulate it in between rippling convulsions (everything inside him twisted and rung, like a cat confronted with water or a snake with fire, it felt as though his entire body was attempting to writhe away from some terrible internal darkness that was eating away at something inside of him. As though there was some terrible wrong _thing_ inside of him and everything else wanted away, just **away** ). Time passed and twisted under his hands as he sought to bring his body under control ("I'm fine. I'm fine.") ("This isn't what I _wanted_ ") "Oh Tobi, this isn't what any of us wanted" Touka's voice was twisted and bent but he could hardly register it, still reeling as the attack slowly passed and his body began to remember how to be a body again instead of just ome wanting thing trying to tear itself apart from the inside. Gasping he relaxed his hands slowly; one finger at a time ignoring the dull ache in the joints as he did so, "Did the meeting go well?" he asked quietly, voice bizarrely normal as the attack passed. Touka huffed, "It went fantastic Tobi You did an amazing job" she said gruffly and something that was almost a smile pulled at Tobirama's lips, "Good, that's good, I wanted it to go well" he murmured. "I know you did, and it was great, we got exactly what we needed out of them and you did an amazing job. You can rest now" he nodded at her words, feeling bizarrely light as the crisis passed and his body slowly remembered how living was supposed to work (he knew how this went, there would be a crisis his body would go into shock- never for any good reason or discernible cause because _of course not_ \- and once the shock passed and the crisis was over he would feel bizarrely well for a few hours before the pain and the backlash hit. It was fundamentally unfair that backlash should have backlash but that that's what happens when you have muscle weakness, pain and _then_ add convulsions).

* * *

[Watching the water drain from a time clock, seeing the pain turn everything pink, the shape of a loss I'll never know.  
Turn away, around in a spinning shape of a wound up clock turning down, turn down but _hey_ , never look away. (Never look away)  
The silhouette of a broken ending as you leave me behind to see all things go on, oh foolish child don't you see the way the world turns on without me?  
I go away and leave all things, but you leave me behind long before I ever turned, you faced away and couldn't bare to be there as my life drained away.  
Watching water spin down the drain, the empty remains of funeral flowers I'll never see, hey did you get my favorite flowers in memory of me?  
Turn the taps to off, pull the curtains closed, shut the drawers and walk away, close up the house and leave the living for another day.]

* * *

Touka let him be for a long breath before poking him harshly in the side "You dead?" She asked roughly and he let out a tired laugh snapping at her retreating fingers and pushing himself back to lean heavily against the wall. "Yeah" Tobirama muttered "fine for right now but I should probably go home and lie down" (he could do little to hide the bitterness in his voice) Touka sighed a little and began scrabbling her way up the side of the cupboard before holding out her hand to him "Up we go" she said briskly helping him lever himself up to his feet "I'm assuming you're too tired for the thunder God thing?" She asked and his mouth twisted faintly "Yes, that would not be a good idea" he said, unwilling to look in her eyes and focusing on dusting his clothes off until it no longer looked like he had been convulsing in a cupboard for the better part of an hour.

Touka rolled her eyes again and threw open the door, completely uncaring of who might be standing outside and see them exit together - she had never been particularly concerned with rumors and blithely stomped her way past the gaping shinobi that the door had almost opened into. Tobirama followed her at a more sedate pace (his body ached and screamed even as frenetic energy bounced down his veins, everything in him trying desperately to reset into a functioning shape even as the withdrawing adrenaline scraped against his bones) nodding to Nara as they headed out of the tower together and rolling his eyes a little bit when Touka held out her arm to him, he still had far too much at stake to be willing to accept that kind of help yet. His reputation as the white demon was still needed by the village and it was all he had left to give anymore; his experiments all but ceased under oppressive exhaustion and his teaching long sense ended in any form as it became difficult to focus. It was one of the most bitter truths he had ever experienced that all those things he had once loved and found satisfaction in no longer mattered the same way, on coming death had had scraped away everything but fatigue and anticipation of rest. The mortal scythe slowly reaping all that had once been his identity and leaving only scraps with which to face his fate; he was little like what he had once been now and no matter how much he had once been told that he should not let illness change his desires or personality he was well aware that that was only a cruel wish, how could he be anything but changed when his vision was edged with silver gray wings and the fluttering of death's cloak? (Denial was a luxury of the living and well)

* * *

[(Hey child did you ever hear of me? Did they ever tell you of swords and blood and Grace in death or am I that secret thing that fills the empty whispers of lonely nights? Do I live only in forgotten photos or do they never speak of me?)  
I see that you don't want to look, I feel the cold that creeps through you, I know this is not a pretty sight, but don't look away, watching to the gruesome end and see the death's mask looking at you from my bedside,  
That's the cruel price I make you pay, the cost of the anger I never took out on you, the anger you thought I gave away (did you truly think I was so kind? Oh child did you really think I was so gracious as all that?)  
I'll be good and let you be what you need to be, I'll be kind and not crush you with my withering weight, I'll be all the things I was never really meant to be but there's a price I'll take from you in honesty.]

* * *

"Do you think there will be anything left of me? Do you think my life will be erased when I am no longer here to fight for it?" Tobirama asked softly, voice resigned and far away. Touka grimaced as she dropped him on his bed and he grit his teeth as he hauled himself up to lie properly, "Of course there will be" she said roughly and tugged his shoes off to yanked his covers over his feet (damn things were never warm anymore) "you're still you. You can't give up on that, you're not your illness and it hasn't changed you."

Tobirama jackknifed up, fury written over his face as he snarled at her with more passion than she had seen in months - since well before she had been told about his returning illness. "Fuck you! I am my illness and pretending that I'm not is an insult to my experience! I'm dying, I'm _dying_ and the parts of me you want me to be again- the parts of me you think I still have- died the day I saved the Uchiha brat. I'm not that person anymore. I'm just not. I can't be that. I'm reduced and I can't run from that, not when I have no future and want nothing but _peace_." he sagged a little as he went on, gaze turned inward now and out of her reach "When do you think a person dies? When their breath stops? When the chakra drains away? What about when they stop seeing themselves in the summer? In the next season. Because I can't see it Touka, my future is a blank and I can't see a world where I see another winter _and I don't want to_. Gods I can't do that, I just can't. It hurts too much. And that doesn't make me weak! I'm not giving up just... fighting a different fight. I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to. I just don't Touka." " I thought you wanted to do more?" She asked, thrown by his vehemence and discomfited by his exhaustion. "I...I don't know. I want to want to do more. I want to have the person I was two years ago back. I want...I wanted to do more and now I want to _rest_ I don't know. Is that allowed?" He sounded small somehow, confused and twisted out of shape; so clearly hurting that it made something in her snap and snarl.

  
"Yeah kid, that's okay I guess" she sat on the side of his bed with a sigh and picked up one trembling cold hand "You're in the middle of constant agony with no surety in your life, you're allowed to be conflicted about that" he sagged as if her words removed a great weight off his back, ducking his head behind the over long white hair. "How am I supposed to know what I feel when I know nothing?" He asked in a resigned tone "I don't know if I'm going to die but I don't see any way for me to live. I don't know how soon but I just can't face another winter. I don't _know_ that I'm going to be allowed to rest but I know I can't do this for very much longer. I don't know if I'm going to be ready when I'm done." He looked up at her and his eyes were old, already seeing something she didn't know "How am I supposed to know what I want when I face a different destiny everyday?"

* * *

[(Did they tell you the way I didn't let them look away? Hey child did they tell you the pain I forced them to see? The blood of life clawing it's way out of a broken defective thing? The murder scene of my life?)  
That's my cruel joke, to be so tender you must see me and catch your chin in my hand, force you to see me dragging to an end. Hey, you laughing now? How about me?]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not fully happy with this chapter


	3. The bloody surf

The sorrow crept up on him, emerging from the bitter tides at random moments. It was hard most days because he would be moving through his life as normal, hands shaking perhaps but still writing the necessary documents and then suddenly, it was upon him, the bitter taste of bloody sorrow an iron tang on his tongue at the sudden remembrance of his new reality; he was reduced, made less by a body that slowly ate away at his everything (his abilities, his ambition, his hopes, his dreams, his wistful wishes, his soul). So Tobirama tried to think as little as he could of the recent changes, he didn't want to think about the way he had fallen a week ago in front of his brother, Mito, and Toka, didn't want to think about the shame- unnecessary though they said it was- that came from going into full body spasms in front of other people. Showing weakness so much made his skin crawl; he didn't want to be remembered like that, didn't want them to know that, didn't want that to be what they saw, didn't want an audience.

And to make it worse, just to add a special flavor to the pain, there was the quiet fact that it had never been like this before, never had this element of unpredictability, never before had he thought it was only fatigue and then found himself on the floor unable to control his muscles as they twisted him into a curled ball on the ground constantly trying to contract even tighter. Once upon a time he had been able to predict it, have at least a vague sense of what was going to happen, never before had he stood up expecting weakness and instead found failure and how was he supposed to live with that? Live never knowing if making one wrong move would reduce him to nothing but animal instincts as his body attempted to tear itself to pieces. He didn't want to do nothing but how could he do anything with such uncertainty breathing down his neck and no way to respond to it?

It was like being in enemy territory chased by a patrol except he didn't know where his enemies were; they could have been anywhere and he thought they were miles behind but he didn't _know_ , they could have been right behind him, they could have been walking in his very footsteps, or he could have had hours and hours to take a break catch his breath drink some water but he _didn't know_ then one wrong move would leave him on the floor. Oh sure Tobirama knew his brother didn't want him to think of the Uchiha as enemies anymore- and he wasn't fool enough to paint an entire clan with the brush of a few now that they had peace accords and he was developing trust that the Uchiha would keep the peace- but the thing was it was hard not to feel like Madara and Izuna were always watching his back just waiting for his strength to falter. He didn't know why the Uchiha brothers watched him constantly still, but all he could think was that they still regarded him as a threat even if Madara had thanked him for saving Izuna, so he had to assume that they were watching the White Demon for even a sign of weakness, after all they still kept Uchiha children away from him as much as they could.

Tobirama's only consolation was that he _did_ trust that Madara would not attempt to use any weakness of his against his brother; The Uchiha truly did want peace- and a _stable_ peace- he had no interest in destabilizing the village and the albino was fairly certain that Madara wasn't interested in destabilizing his relationship with Hashirama either but that didn't mean that the older man wouldn't take advantage of an opportunity to reduce Tobirama's influence in the village if he still refused to trust the White Demon. And that in and of itself was enough to send his instincts screaming; the constant feeling of being watched for weakness left him a shaking mess some evenings with the overwhelming sense of uncertainty (could he go out, could he go walk in the village, could he go see his brother, could he go back and work on paperwork, could he do anything without risking everything?) and distrust; threats on all sides and watchers waiting in the wings to stoop on him like carrion crows.

(Of course the great irony was eventually they wouldn't have to fear him at all, but how long would he be the wounded animal staggering, how long would he be the sick calf, the starving wolf, the antelope bleeding out, how long would he have to live dying)

* * *

[Bleed out the breath of a new day, the endless fade of an ending thrown away,

Silver fills the blood in my skin, glass the shape of the bones that never should have worn so thin,

Sun touches water and bleeds red to blue, fading color reclaimed by nature's first hue,]

* * *

Tobirama breathed out slowly, tipping his head back to lean against the wall and pulling in the cool jasmine scented air (in, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven – _breath_ , just breath) and focusing on ignoring the too fast beat of his heart; it would do no good to count beats, to think of the hoarse gasping of his breath, to let his mind linger on the steady ache in his joints (as if it was as easy as that), he wouldn’t let them fill his mind ( _I can be fine, I can be fine, I can be fine, I- **oh god it hurts** \- can be fine, I have to be fine_), he had other things to do, there was work to be done (there was always work to be done). Not that that made that easy, pain ruled his life even when it was pushed away in the back of his mind behind walls as high and strong as he could make them; all the work in the world wouldn’t keep him from tracking how many stairs there was into the tower and wonder how much work he would lose because he had to climb them ( _stairs_ , fucking **_stairs_** , as if he hadn’t been one of the most capable shinobi in his age). And what was hardest to explain, what Mito couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around- though she did try and he loved her for that- was that the pain wasn’t the worst; oh is was hell but what was worst was the _fatigue_ , the malaise that set in and the horrible feeling that something was wrong (like waking in the night and knowing that there was going to be an attack, but the enemy was _himself_ ), the deep fear that something was poison in him (a black creeping fear twisting through veins and bones).

How was Tobirama supposed to live with seeing what he used to be and feeling as though his _self_ was leaching away; once upon a time Tobirama had prided himself on his control over his body – so much so that he had found a way to take his body outside the bounds of time and space to make the hiraishin. And while he withered and faded he watched the world grow around him; he was so glad for Hashirama with his wife and soon to be child and he would never want for the village to be anything other than growing and prospering, but…gods even Madara and _Izuna_ were growing and changing and _living_ and still Tobirama lingered on the edge, not dead and not alive but just…hollow.

* * *

[The shape might almost be a sail, far from here or there or anywhere without fail,

Mountains rise up and break the flat, shatter all perception and remind life is like that.]

* * *

“Tobirama-sensei?” Tobirama twitched and shoved himself up straight, adrenalin filling the spaces made by pain eating away at him and looked at Kagami as the small boy slipped through the houses in the dimming twilight. “What are you doing out this late?” he asked, hoping that Kagami would miss the rough sound and take the softness as trying to be quite in the evening, the Uchiha brightened shyly “Um…I was just…wondering if I could, um, I-“ he stuttered out, unwilling to meet Tobirama’s eyes even though the Senju had been teaching him for a wild now, “Kagami. Ask.” he said sternly. The boy took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders “I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight? I gets…quite at home and Madara-sama is busy and-“ “Kagami, you may stay for tonight” Tobirama interrupted his breathless question. Gods this was a bad idea, but what was he going to do? Say no? To Kagami who was lonely and small and sad, there was no way Tobirama could tell him no, no matter how badly it could end.

* * *

[Words fill the mouths of people dressed in black, words they wish vainly they could take back,

Flowers red like losing life in bloody petals, white and blood blooming falling settals,]

* * *

Kagami was watching him, Tobirama could feel the eyes on his back (sweet and well meaning, not like the shinobi that were only waiting for him to falter, but so, so watchful) and kept it straight through nothing but strength of will; bracing a hand against the counter to disguise the hitch in his stance when one of his knees gave out under him (always a strange sensation to have one knee buckle, throwing him off balance) and hiding the shaking of his hands by making whisked the eggs instead of serving them whole (how many thing did he do differently now? How many little changes had filled his life and home?) “How hungry are you?” he asked softly, hating the softness of his voice with so little air to back it.

Kagami blinked and looked up at him, “Um, I had something earlier, so not too much. Haven’t you eaten yet sensei?” Tobirama tucked a smile in the corner of his lip – of course he hadn’t yet, nothing sounded anymore (unless it was something very specific and probably hard to get) “Not yet, there was a lot to get done Kagami and this will be done soon.” The albino searched for something to say- not a problem he often had with his students but now it was hard some days to find the energy to listen the way he wanted to (and he did want to, he _cared_ , but it was _so hard_ to clear the heavy white fog from his head, billowing around his thoughts and eating the emotions Tobirama knew he should feel). Kagami kicked his feet, smiling slyly when Tobirama shot him a chastising look at the thudding of his feet on the cabinets, “Madara-sama normally let me hang out with him when it gets too quiet” he cocked his head “or too loud, it does both you know” he said his a sage nod; Tobirama smiled faintly “And what do you do with Madara-sama?” he asked.

As Kagami burbled on about what he had been doing with his clan head Tobirama tried not to think to hard about when the boy could go to sleep – what time was normal for a boy his age if he wasn’t an active shinobi anyway? He bit his lip harshly and tried not to sniffle, he _loved_ Kagami, he love the little boy more than anyone else that wasn’t blood (Kagami had been one of the first to look past the White Demon and be willing to try and connect with Tobirama as a _person_ and not a weapon) and had never once wanted anything more than to spend time with the Uchiha but now- _fuck_ \- all he could think about was when he could send Kagami to sleep and curl under his blankets and try to _breath_. It felt like a betrayal to want the boy to sleep- to not watch him- want him not watching as Tobirama fell to pieces; it felt like somehow he must love Kagami less, that if he cared enough he would find the energy, if he cared enough he would never find anything but joy in Kagami being around (once that had even been true). He knew he didn’t love the Uchiha any less (didn’t love any of them less even though some times just knowing people were near made him want to snarl and lash out like a wolf with it’s leg in a trap), this was just another thing the empty space in him had eaten.

* * *

[Dirt dark black and sear rich scented, smell of Earth and lilies by death vented,

Old words and new spoken, from the mouths of lost eyed people whose hearts are broken,

Is that the cost that is left to you? The price of sunsets and sails and mountains? The results of Earth and red-red lilies.]


	4. The last of the sea foam

Tobirama stared at the papers in his hands, eyes blind to the writing, frozen in the moment – mind far away and cold; he should have known this would happen, of _course_ it would, it was completely normal to see a mission assignment come across his desk for approval, it had happened so many times before. It was just… _this_ mission was one Tobirama should be running. _This_ mission was one to which he was a perfect fit, his skills and knowledge so obviously suited to the task that _not_ running it was almost insulting, except… The albino raised a hand watching as the shaking overwhelmed his grip and dropped his hand back to the desk before he could loose his hold on the brush as his fingers jerked – it had been _so hard_ to write for days now, the effort it took to make his fingers move a constant drag on his pitiful reserves; no, there was no way he could run _any_ missions like this, it was laughable to even consider it when he might not even be able to hold a blade without dropping it when his fingers spasmed.

The Senju pulled his fingers into a fist, the relief of the ceasing of the tremors making his breath catch. _Pathetic_.

* * *

[I cut my hands down to the quick and watch as the blood drips and drips, garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black as it splashes in the dirt; the scoring cuts in the white-white bone of new revealed hands seems to write out a fortune-teller future in the broken knuckle-bones shattered from holding too tight and losing too hard.]

* * *

“Senju” Tobirama snapped to attention trying to hide his surprise as Madara stared at him from the door, dark eyes inscrutable and sharp “Uchiha-sama” he murmured softly. A slight frown overtook the other man’s brow and he stepped farther into the office “Why is my brother running the mission to Wave?” he asked, far less confrontational than Tobirama had expected – was he in a good mood? Why wasn’t he snarling at Tobirama about putting his brother in danger over a task _Tobirama_ should be doing?

The albino licked his lips and gathered himself “Izuna is has the best chance of success from the available shinobi” he said firmly, pushing away the voice in his head ( _pathetic_ ) as best he could. Tobirama _should_ be running this, he was the best available, but ' _should'_ had never stopped his hands from shaking. Madara frowned a little and the Senju relaxed somewhat at the return to the normal dynamic, “Do you think me stupid Senju? That I didn’t read the mission parameters? _You_ are clearly the best fit for this.” he snapped; tension thick in his voice.

* * *

[I walk and walk and walk and try to run again and fall and fail and on blister-flayed feet I stumble forward leaving garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black footsteps in my wake, the only open show of passing that I create as my insubstantial weight makes no other mark, not a dint upon the ground, not a single show of my having lived but the dirty stain of bitter pain.]

* * *

“And I am not available to run this mission at the moment” Tobirama snapped back, haughty as he could, false in his arrogance, relying on Madara’s dislike of him to keep questions at bay if the Senju could make him angry; like clockwork Madara’s brows snapped down and a storm gathered on his face “And why is that _Senju_?” he snarled. Tobirama raised a crisp brow and stood, tucking his traitor hands behind his back “I really don’t see how that is any of your business” he purred, eyes watchful on Madara’s handsome face. The Uchiha slammed a hand on Tobirama’s desk and it was all the albino could do to try and hide his sharp flinch – fear shaking his bones and hoping the Uchiha wouldn’t see it (he couldn’t defend himself now, couldn’t do _anything_ and every movement sent glass-brittle spikes of fear through him, the fear of his body all but overwhelming – he felt like a soap bubble, like paper-thin glass and with every touch, every movement, every use of chakra he wondered if this would be the thing to shatter him).

* * *

[I fall and stumble into wooden things, all the stuff that fills life and when I stumble and catch myself on too-sharp edges and sturdy-mahogany corners I bruise in garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black dripping underneath my skin in spreading failure's mark - the shape of limbs, once confident in carving whisper-sharp choreography, reduced to the frailness of overripe fruit.]

* * *

Madara’s eyes were dark and watchful, hungry as he grit out “I need a better reason than that _Senju_ ” Tobirama pulled his lips in a facsimile of a smile “I don’t think that’s my problem.” Madara reared back to his full height and something thoughtful flashed in his eyes before they went derisive “You’re refusing to run this mission and sending _my brother_ instead even though you are a better fit? I never took you for a coward or petty before” he said. Tobirama felt his hands jerk and breath stop, it was all he could do not to fall to the ground as the sudden cold snapped through him, cutting open his joints and tearing like fear through his chest ( _he couldn’t breathe_ ), anxiety dancing up his veins; he didn’t – he didn’t want Madara to think that, above all others he didn’t want Madara to think that about him. But what could he possibly do when he had already failed (over and over again)?

His knees went weak and he pulled in a frantic breath scrabbling for control as his body rebelled in the face of emotions he could no longer weather (even that, even a moment of fear or disappoint was more then he could handle, sending his body into cascading shock as it tried to get away from the overstimulation). Tobirama dragged in a shaking breath though his nose, trying, _trying,_ to get under control as he forced himself not to fall and the darkness to clear from the edges of his vision – in his frantic struggle he missed dark Uchiha eyes narrow slightly, missed the slight falcon tilt to the dark head, missed Madara waver, as if uncertain if he should move closer or pull away and give the albino space.

“It-“ Tobirama _forced_ his voice to work, dragging words like glass-dust from his throat “-it doesn’t matter what you think of me” he rasped “Izuna will be sent on the mission, if either of you have a problem with that nominate someone else and take it up with the Hokage” (he felt a little bad for dumping that on his brother but he just _couldn’t_ have this conversation any longer).

* * *

[I try to speak and my breath is thin and weak, gasping in half-derelict pathways, all ease of speech and elegance of phrase, all carefully learned projection and watchfully curated agility of voice and tone and accent torn to pieces on the jagged cliffs that seem to fill my throat, tasting garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black as I try to spit bitter too-quiet words from uncooperative lungs and find it often comes to not, for there is no one there to hear, the words come too soft, I grow too weary to force them out and fall to silence instead.]

* * *

He didn’t know what else to say, how to take this and make it better, how to salvage this in any way, it was a lost cause, but even so as Madara snorted and whirled away Tobirama felt something shatter in his chest (funny, he hadn’t realized he had anything unbroken left in there) and the second the door slammed closed behind the Uchiha Tobirama _dropped_ , pressing his face to the edge of his desk and gasping for air as he fought not to slip into shock – all this from a _conversation_. Nothing more than a conversation.

He turned slowly, carefully, and sat on the floor leaning back against the sturdy wood of the desk Hashirama had made him; tilting his head to the sun slipping through the window and just trying to breath and think of nothing else, nothing else at all. (Would that he could doze off and let the fear slip away for even a moment)

* * *

[I lay down to dream and find sleep a fickle mistress; she dances just beyond me smiling at me through the garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black veil of the pain sunk deep in my bones and beckons me on with flickering fingers like white-dream-stuff, coaxing me on a path my bloody feet cannot follow, her footsteps filled with a quiet sound of rattling knuckle-bones in a fortune teller's fist and always my voice too thin to call her back and beg her walk slower as I try to walk on fruit-frail limbs.]

* * *

The sun was warm, Hashirama’s gift firm at his back, the smell of ink and pine and _peace_ filling the air (once upon a time he had thought that he would never leave the smell of blood behind, that it was sunk so deep he would never be free of it) as the village moved around him, chakra bright and sharp and living.

* * *

[I try to wait and breathe and let the water roll away carrying the easing of the pain as I must believe it will, but even as I wait I feel the garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black rot _writhe_ inside me, a tangling twisting monster and all I wish is to tear out of papyrus-fragile-flesh and hide from that lurking thing. If I could but shed my body and crawl into a corner far from it and all the garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black perhaps I could for a moment feel as if I had something left (in my ears I think I hear the rattle of knuckle-bones and a drip. drip. the serenade of garnet-ruby-crimson-vermilion-scarlet-all-but-black).]


	5. The horizons of glass

There were days where it felt like light shone through him; days when Tobirama felt peace like melting sunlight, all imprint removed as the world moved through him, gathering hollow sounds to fill quiet evenings.

Water dripped from his colorless lashes as he tipped his head back into the rain (Madara watched, transfixed by the sight, by the beauty, by the seeming fragility, by the red slowly smearing in the water), it was cold and not entirely pleasant but the dimmed silver-sun it made the light soft enough for even his sensitive eyes. The way rain sometimes seemed to turn the world down a little always eased some of the pain and let his days slip past him differently; a little feather-muffled and a velvet-touch of melancholy that soothed him. So often his own creeping ever present sorrow made the world seem even farther from him, but on days like this it felt as though all the world had slowed down a little to match his pace; the silvered light making him feel wise and ephemeral rather than invisible.

* * *

[And when sand pours between my fingers like molten honey  
Slipping away on time's soft susurrus, an hourglass of sifting tomorrows  
Blowing away on sea-breeze-winds, carried out over whispering waves  
Out to shinning horizons, the sun touched boundary of silver glass]

* * *

"Tobi?" The albino turned at his brother's soft call, smiling a little as Hashirama caught up with him, already soaked through. The older Senju tutted a little at Tobirama's face and wiped at his cheeks, showing the albino the red staining the fabric. "Tobi, where is your waterproof paint?" Hashirama asked, clearly doing his best to keep his voice and drama down so as not to overwhelm his brother. Tobirama huffed a laugh, "I ran out, more to mix is coming in a few days but until then I just-" Hashirama interrupted him sternly "-Need to stay out of the rain?" "Oh honestly Hashi, it's not that big a deal" he murmured, tired.

Hashirama shook his head, "It is if you don't want to answer questions, brother you know I don't care but..." Tobirama looked away and his shoulders dropped a bit as he nodded a little. The older Senju rubbed at Tobirama's bicep and slid his hand down to tug at the albino's long pale fingers "I don't care, but I know you care about what message you are sending with the way you look" Tobirama grimaced but couldn't argue "look, come for dinner? Are you having a better day?" Hahsirama's voice was a little tentative, not totally certain how to ask his brother how he was feeling - it was hard, if he asked if Tobirama was having a good day then the albino had to try and figure out what scale his was working with, after all Tobirama didn't really have _good_ days anymore. "Yeah, ok, I'll come Hashi. Not sure how long I'll stay but I'll come for a bit" it wasn't as easy a decision as Tobirama made is sound, always a carefully planed calculation of what he wouldn't be able to do if he did something else.

It was like starting every battle with only so many sebon and every task he had to do- no matter how mynute- stole another one, even getting out of bed or getting dressed an enemy to be faced; so he had to plan every strike so he wouldn't run out before all his enemies were down. (If he bathed would he loose another half-hour of paperwork? If he had dinner with his brother would he have the energy to eat tomorrow? What would it cost if he used up all of them before he could retire at night? And was it worth it? For his brother it frequently was and he spent sebons whenever he could afford to with the people he loved but that didn't make the calculation- or the cost- any easier.)

* * *

[Tumble the memories in my hands until they are like sea glass; all edges worn away, pitted and washed with salt.  
Remember me like this when I am gone, remember me on glass shores with the light shining through, tomorrow's prism.  
Sit on quiet sunny days and watch the world unspool around me; the cry of sea birds calling me away.  
Remember my voice in hours like this, full of tomorrows lost and the pain of yesterday transfigured into frothing sea foam.]

* * *

Hashirama's entire face brightened at the agreement, all but bouncing in his shoes with excitement "Really?! Oh man yes! We'll ask Mito to cook so you don't need to!" he chirped. Tobirama leveled him with a look "As long as you don't go in the kitchen" he snarked; Hahsirma ducked his head but Tobirama knew he was still grinning and a pang of something bittersweet washed through him. "I'm sorry Hashi" he murmured "I wish...if we had more time..." his voice trailed off, unable to say things he didn't mean - he didn't want more time, he wanted peace (peace had come to the clans but the cost - it had not come to Tobirama.) and rest and that would not come to him here, no matter how he loved his brother. Hahsirama watched him with dark understanding eyes, "I know Tobi, I don't want that for you either" the older Senju hesitated for a moment, "don't get me wrong, I'm going to miss you _so damn much_ but...I already miss you."

"Yeah" Tobirama whispered "I miss me too."

(Madara was frowning as he watched the brothers walk away, he hadn't heard their conversation, but there was something...and since when were Tobirama's marks painted on?)  
  
Tobirama laughed, sagging back into Touka's shoulder as he watched Mito splutter at her husband, appalled at his vulgar commentary on their marriage bed in front of his family. Touka snorted, jerking behind him before leaning her cheek on Tobirama's exhausted head, "How you doing?" she asked softly and Tobirama hummed, "Ah, you know, worth it" "You're crying" Touka whispered and Tobriama pushed away to turn and look at her.

"It's not- there are days where its just-" he struggled for the words to explain "Have you ever stood outside in a thunderstorm at dusk with the light glimmering through the rain and felt the power of all that potential rage above you? Or looked at the stars when there is nothing else around and felt all that _space_ so keenly that it brought you to tears? Have you ever looked out over the ocean and tasted salt on your tongue with sheer potential of forever and felt something so large and bright crawl up your throat that you felt as though you were _gagging_ on it? That is what it feels like to be washed out to sea and die in inches, it feels like all the stars are calling you home, as though every moment is gilded silver in the rain, it's to feel as though you are dashed to pieces with every breath. Oh cousin, it is hell and heaven in every moment and all is magnified into the power of a thousand, thousand last minuets. Love it bitter and hope is cold and sorrow is sweet and tomorrow is lost and _every second_ I am with those I love it feels as though I could drown beneath the glory of it."

"Tobi" Mito whispered behind him, her embarrassment forgotten. The albino shifted to look at her over his shoulder, her eyes were wet but Hashirama's were large and dry. "It's ok Mito - or rather it's not but...in all the blood and pain and loss and regret there are moments of eternity; moments that are a gift, and moments that I will never grow old enough to loose. There is something of beauty in that."

* * *

[See me in your mind's eye as I am on these days when ache of breathing was so true is was living and dying all at once,  
The breath of rain and the sound of far off thunder; let the memory of what I was turn the days into silver sheets of rain.  
So then I feel like an afterimage, burned into your memories I want to be a shimmer blowing away on westward winds,  
Let it make your days a little brighter with the taste of the ephemeral, see the prism light and follow me away.]


	6. The tumbling white shell

"Touka" he said, voice even and calm "you have to take the mission. You need to get out of the village for a bit - we both know you hate being couped up too long. You _need_ to keep living your life and doing what you need to do for yourself, I can't be the reason you don't." 

The set of her jaw was mulish as she responded "And what if you need me? Huh? What if something happens-" "Then I'll call you back for anything major, I know you would want to be here. I know you'll be here if I really need you but - fuck, cousin, we don't know how long this- me- is going to drag on and I won't have you put your life on hold for it. _No Touka!_ I won't, I don't want that guilt. And you would start to resent it, you would, and then you would resent me. Just a little. No matter how much you love me you would be unhappy and hate it and it would get bitter. We both know that and I won't have it." He forced his voice not to waver or shiver.

* * *

[I think you took the last of my hope with you when you left to go where you could shine

(You had to go, I told you to go, I want you to have gone)]

* * *

She licked her lips and looked away "Tobi...." "Touka, I'll never forgive you if you don't go, if you make me a reason not to keep growing and moving. If you can look back and say that I was the reason you stagnated - shit, I can't carry that. I _won't_ carry that." Tobirama's sinuses were stinging and his throat ached and he wanted - why was this on him?

* * *

[Because it feels now as if the last color has faded from the sky and I miss color

(I just wish you going didn't mean you leaving, but neither of us have the strength to hold on)]

* * *

"Your priorities will change - not the big emergency ones, but the everyday things will change. They need to change. Just because I'm...fading doesn't mean you should too." He kept his voice as gental as he knew how, but it was hard. So fucking hard. 

"They _won't_!" She hissed, eyes angry and dark and he didn't know how to tell her, how to explain that they would- they had too- that she would be distracted with other things; with maps and where to sleep and mission objectives and contacts she made. Her priorities would change in her everyday as her life filled up with living again and she moved forward (without him); it was inevitable and he could already tell that she wouldn't want to acknowledge that, that she would fight not to see it so she didn't have to feel guilty about it (she wouldn't want to see it as the price of momentum - the cost of moving forward was moving on). She would pretend nothing had changed even as she forgot what it meant to live the way he did and in time the understand would fade ( _he_ would fade) until something dramatic happened and landed him in trouble enough to call her back.

It was inevitable. It was _necessary,_ she had to live and couldn't do that tied to Konoha and him (like a weight to her leg), he had loved all the time with her and, fuck, living without her support just minutes away was going to be awful. So painful he could hardly bear to think about it but he wouldn't be the reason she didn't be all that she could be; she was beautiful and amazing and bright and he wanted her to grow better and brighter, not gutter out under his smothering gray-smoke-shade but... And why couldn't she admit that things would be different? That she wouldn't be the help she had been? That she was (a little) abandoning him? (She had to but that didn't change the truth) Why couldn't she _see_ that sometimes life left you with no choice but to hurt people? Sometimes heartbreak was the cost of tomorrow and her refusal to see that - to admit that, meant that she would blind herself to his pain so she wouldn't have to see guilt. 

And it would just hurt him more. Hurt more because talking to her would always mean that he was talking around a pain she didn't want to see, a wound she wouldn't take responsibility for. He didn't want to have to fight with her about whether or not she was still involved (and he knew she would be back as fast as she could run for a big thing, but his pain was made of little moments like sand in an hourglass and she wouldn't be part of that anymore) but he wouldn't be at the top of her mental list anymore- which would be appropriate, she _had_ to focus on her job and the intelligence she was gathering- and he was already exhausted with the anticipation of her refusal to be aware of that instead of pretending that it wasn't true so she didn't have to see his pain (so she didn't have to feel guilty).

The great irony was that if she took responsibility for that and saw it, looked it in the eye, it would keep their relationship healthier; he could already tell that this would be a quiet ever growing ache between them and they would never be as close after this as they had been this summer when she had been _so much_ to him and helped so much and loved so much and kept his life broader and brighter just by being there. They were loosing that. They were loosing that and he wanted to howl and cry and rage at the world that would do this, make them loose it like this (why couldn't he just die now? Before he had to watch all that he love wither under the wight of his pain and the inexorable pull of time? _Please... please)._

* * *

[I am so very empty now as my world winnows down without you to help broaden it

(I never thought it would mean loosing like this, but then I never thought you would leave without a goodbye)]

* * *

Tobirama just looked at her, just looked. There was nothing more to say really, nothing she wanted to hear anyway. 

After a moment Touka looked away and blew out a slow breath "I'll be back as soon as you need me. Nothing - nothing will really change. Everything will be ok." She said firmly, as if she could _force_ it to be true. The albino smiled a tiny empty smile "Everything will be ok" he agreed (it wouldn't). 

* * *

[(Why couldn't you at least give me a goodbye?)]


	7. The burning water

Tobirama's hands were steady.  
The lines of text he wrote clean and unmarred without overwhelming effort on his part.  
There were no splotches of ink on the paper and his breathing was even and slow.

* * *

[When even the good days make you feel a liar, when they light you up as though your soul has been set on fire; when times you should celebrate energy restored instead become the groaning creek of burning walls and floors.]

* * *

Teeth gritted he dropped his head into his hands, fingers clenching tight in white hair; fuck this was so. fucking. unfair. (" _l_ _ife's_ unfair son") he should be glad, should be celebrating a good day and setting himself to his tasks with renewed vigor - after all his hands were steady. For the first time in _months_ writing should be fast and smooth and what better time to devote himself to doing as much as he could as fast as he could?  
And yet all he could bring himself to do was stare at his hands and hold his breath.

* * *

[When tomorrow's promise builds up a bloody tide and the fragile dam whisper-thin holds the back a wave you know you cannot ride, when returning brilliance goes supernova and all you dream and once sought is caught up in unceasing lava.]

* * *

He knew, he _knew,_ that he should be glad, should be happy should be - and yet in some ways this was more of a torment then- well, not then the bad days, but the mediocre days at the very least. Because as it was he was all but vibrating with tension, strung tight as any bow string with the stress of - not knowing, not being _certain_ , knowing it would come back, fearing that...fearing that anyone he met would take his 'good day' as normal, or as a sign of improving health. Fearing that they would be so glad, fearing that they would so prefer him on a good day- days he feared as much as loved- that he would be unable to hide from how much they preferred him like that when that _wasn't who he was_ _anymore_ (that he would have to face how little value he had as he was now).  
And maybe that was unfair to the people around him (maybe), maybe he wasn't giving them enough credit but...he knew no matter what else was true they preferred good days. Even if that was just because he was in less pain the truth was still there: they found it easier to be around him on good days. Wanted him around more, found him less stressful - and. fuck. that wasn't fair. Not when he could see that it was more about them loving him and wanting him to be in less pain but - still. The pain would come back and they would not - they would still wish him different then he was now. He would still not be _enough_.

* * *

[When you count the tasks, the duties checked off, and each accomplishment flutters like a moth, when loved ones are so glad to see you so well and all you can think of is the oncoming hell and the way it hurts and hurts and hurts even as you glow.]

* * *

He just wanted to _go home_ until the mania faded back into pain and he would at least know where he stood to some degree (bad days were always harder after good ones, some sort of deconditioning maybe - or maybe just the wondering if maybe if he had been more careful he could have avoided it, as if he could sit still on good days, as if it was some failing of his to crash after).

* * *

[When standing in the sun makes you look so alive and all you feel is the way your skin burns and burns and forces you to survive, and they say be glad, they say be grateful as if it is a gift to lose a little more of yourself with every ash-breath.]

* * *

Snarling a little at himself and his descent into self pity (it wasn't, it _wasn't_ just...trying to figure out how to _go on_ ) he slapped his hands to the desk and tried to focus on the work in front of him; it needed to be done and if he focused maybe he could help Hashi better at the very least. Try and get things better lined out for when his brother had to deal with running such a large group of people (many of whom hated each other) without Tobirama at his side forcing him to focus and _think_ instead of just reacting.

* * *

[When you see the tasks fall away and are glad to see the loss of weight you thought you would carry for another day, but still you feel like a candle burning too hot too fast, flash-fire on delicate incense stick, turning perfume to smoke even as it looks so much brighter.]

* * *

The day passed slowly and painfully (he never slept well on 'good days' to much tension and anxious energy - restless always) as he slowly ground through the papers on his desk, relived in spite of himself to see the pile grow smaller (it had been a while since he had last been this productive) but mostly glad that no one had come to his office other then the runners to take messages and run tasks - it wasn't like they were paying attention to how he was feeling.

* * *

[When you can breathe a little faster and but it grows like cold-fire ice in your chest until all you can hear is your choking breath and nothing after and the ever growing gogogogogogogo screams in between and oh god it hurts even as it seems so great and bright and like what you must dream-!]

* * *

And then- as if he had jinxed himself- there was a knock on the door and his head snapped up just in time to see Madara push it open (the Uchiha never slammed doors, it was something Tobirama hadn't anticipated but was grateful for all the same). Shocked Tobirama blinked at the other man for a moment, long enough one perfectly arched eyebrow raised a little jarring Tobirama back to himself. The albino cleared his throat and looked down at the paper he was writing (more fucking tax law, always more tax law)  
"What do you want?" Madara hummed, head cocked a little  
"Well, I was wondering if you had had a chance to write up the tax levee for a policing force yet but it seems like you have accomplished everything on your desk already so it must be in there somewhere."  
Tobirama's pen stopped for a long moment. Ah. of course. Madara wanted something from him (of course he did, it wasn't like they were friends or anything close to that) and Tobirama's gut twisted in a mess of anger and tragedy. Of all days...but this was the best (of course it was, Tobirama didn't want any one but family to see his weakness, couldn't trust any one else but...perhaps some tiny, _tiny_ , part of his heart had wanted the Uchiha to _see_ him. See that something as wrong. See from another's perspective, that he was unwell, that he wasn't ok and he maybe, maybe, wanted _Madara_ to see.) but this day was the best. A good day. A day that he could look as strong as he always had.  
This was for the best.

* * *

[Then do precious moments grow tarnished and gray, what should give you joy you just wish would go away; because the fear grows and builds and you know the truth of your curse - every day on fire is burning twice as quick and eventually you will run out of wick.]

* * *

Tobirama's hands were steady.


	8. The riptide pulls deep

"You don't - you don't understand Hashi, our bodies are our homes, the only place we can't leave, the place we will live until we die, the place that's supposed to be ours and no one else's and not something we have to doubt, and Hashi - Hashi I don't feel safe in here. It's like there's a shadow lurking around every corner, watchful eyes in every mirror, poison seeping up through the floorboards and a man with a knife hiding behind every door. It's not safe in here and _I can never leave_ " Tobirama knew his voice was thick with fear, a deep twist of fright that always lived in him now, and he _knew_ Hashi didn't know how to handle it. Knew his brother had always seen him as sort of... beyond things like fear (and he had been, for so long he had been), knew Hashirama couldn't handle fear in Tobirama - handled it worse than pain truly, knew that Hashirama couldn't deal with this but - _fuck_. What else was Tobirama supposed to do when the fear rose up in him and he _couldn't make it stop_?

* * *

[The wind whispers is the corners, a quiet conversation just out of hearing - the laughing voice inside my head 

I turn - but no, a shadow nothing more, flickering movement on the edges of my vision beckoning to me in the shapes of my fears]

* * *

"Tobi... I don't - I don't know..." The older Senju's voice trailed off painfully and Tobirama wanted to scream. Wasn't Hashirama hearing a word he was saying?! Didn't he understand? Didn't he see what the horrible waiting was doing? Didn't he _care_ what it was doing to Tobirama? Didn't he see? (Tobirama knew he was being unfair.) Maybe not. Maybe... maybe he didn't want to see, maybe he couldn't see, maybe helplessness was making him blind, maybe it didn't matter why he wasn't able to hear and see, maybe it didn't matter that Tobirama felt he was wild with fear when Hashirama couldn't even see the threat. (Tobirama _knew_ he was being unfair.)

"I'm afraid. I'm so fucking afraid Hashi. How can I not be when everything I am could fall apart at a moment and anything could happen." The albino sighed and looked away "Are you afraid of pain? Humiliation? Weakness? Loss of self? That could happen to me at any fucking moment. The drop of a hat. Pain and confusion and I feel like I'm going fucking _insane_ every time the healers tell me that they can't see what's wrong. Gods, I'm being gaslighted by my own mind and _I can't leave_. I - I can never feel safe anymore and yes it's hard to deal with. And I'm sorry for that but I'm doing my best and I'm trying to be ok - I'm not but I'm _trying_. I don't know what else to do Hashi. I don't know how to make this something you can handle, I don't know how to explain what it feels like in a way you can hear, I don't know how to make this something you can swallow and I don't know how to talk to you if I can't tell you I'm afraid. I never wanted to dump something on you you couldn't handle, and what you can and can't is a choice you have to make for yourself but... you're my _brother_ and I don't want to have to fucking _schedule_ time to be upset- even if it's necessary to make this safest for both of us, to make sure that you have the energy and focus to handle it. Damnit Hashi, if I have to schedule it is it even worth it? If I have to schedule time to be afraid then you have fundamentally misunderstood the fact that I am _always_ afraid."

Hashirama looked away, face tormented "It's not like that, you don't have to schedule, you're my top priority, I always -" 

Tobirama couldn't help but snap "What?! You always have time for me? You always have energy for me? If I need you and I'm strung out at the end of my rope you're going to figure that out and find the energy and respond appropriately instead of getting triggered yourself and making me feel guilty and worse? That's something you can promise me? You can promise me that you'll always be able to set aside everything else and find the energy? Because that has not been true." the look on his brother's face was absolutely devastated and the albino looked away, sharp guilt twisting in his stomach "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, for fucks sake every time you feel bad I end up feeling guilty and then it feels worse and so performative I feel like I might as well have never said anything - but you want communication. I don't know what to do, how to make this something you can swallow and _I don't want to have too_. I know you're doing your best and you just, you're the person you are, and you can't change that, but damn it Hashirama some days I wish you could take a step back and be a little more objective."

It was cruel maybe to throw all this in his brother's face but he honestly didn't know what to do anymore, what to say or what to think, it felt as though he was drowning in fear and choking on the words he felt he couldn't say to anyone, desperate to speak and prove his own existence through echolocation but so often it felt as though if he was in pain or afraid the echoes came back as knives and he wished he had suffocated in silence rather than cut himself to ribbons on his brother's inability to cope. Tobirama had always had reason to curse his brother's too soft heart, he had just never realized it would lead to this as well.

* * *

[In the mirror I see- more fool I that looked- a white face staring back at me, smiling dark grief-deep holes in what should be my face

The floor creaks, the doors shiver, the lights go dim and flicker with the beating of a heart and all around the walls take stuttering breaths]

* * *

"I'm sorry you're afraid" Hashirama whispered "I don't know what else to say. I don't know what it feels like. I don't know how to make it better I don't even know how to just listen when all you can do is repeat the same words. I just don't know what to do brother"

Tobirama looked down and laughed a bitter bitter laugh, "Well, that's both of us then. Tell me brother, do you feel unsafe with me now? Do you spend all of our time together wondering who you're going to see today and how badly it's going to hurt you?"

Immediately Hashirama moved closer catching his brother's shoulders in his big hands "No! Or at least, not always." He took a deep breath and reached deep for the honesty the oldest Senju rarely indulged in "Sometimes I'll admit, sometimes it feels like walking a minefield, sometimes it feels like I can't do anything right and, well, you know me, it's always about whether or not I'm doing it right" now it was Hashirama's turn to smile bitter smile, they both knew that in the end Hashirama's need to be a good brother- especially after the near schism of their childhood- was a powerful and integral thing. Hashirama loved him deeply, but all the love in the world couldn't help when he shut down at the slightest implication that he was a bad brother, all the love in the world couldn't create room for understanding when Hashirama's heart was already full of things it needed - to full to make room for someone else's pain. "I don't know what to do. It's not that I feel unsafe but... I don't necessarily feel welcome and you know how I get when I feel that way. I shut down. We both know this. You're afraid and your home isn't welcoming anymore, not to anybody, not even yourself and I don't know how to be with you if I'm not welcome." 

And oh, Tobirama thought, it seemed as though sickness was teaching truth to both of them. How he wished his brother had never had to learn bitter lessons about his heart. Exhausted the albino sagged in his brother's hands tipping forward to drop his forehead against a strong shoulder, silent tears dripping onetwothree off his cheeks, glad of the clean burn of honesty (so much safer than lies that cast shadows in which anything could hide).

* * *

[I duck my head, wish for the bed of my youth and safety of it's blankets, I try to breathe, to wait it out, ignore the brush of fingers on my neck

I could move perhaps, but where to go when every door has teeth and halls extend ever farther from my sight, endless as my days]

* * *

"I don't feel safe here" he whispered over cracking lips and a tongue like dust. "I want to be safe Hashi"

* * *

[I want to kneel, to drop and curl and shiver in a ball and try to believe I am anywhere but here - only the floorboards sag, soft under me

So stand I there, frozen in place as the shadows touch me as a lover and whisper of my slow death, a stately waltz in a red red room.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are there any tags I should add to this so people knw what they are getting into? It occurs to me I might not have it tagged well.

**Author's Note:**

> I was very uncertain about posting this at all given that it hits very close to home but, well, maybe someone else need to see it or something.


End file.
